Swallowed by the Sea
by nlizzette7
Summary: Sometimes you wonder why stars align and things collide, and Blair is the only thing you know. One-shot. Set in season one, the night before Lily and Bart's wedding.


_You cut me down a tree and brought it back to me,_

_And that's what made me see where I was going wrong._

_You put me on a shelf and kept me for yourself._

_I can only blame myself._

_You can only blame me._

:::

You don't want to love her.

Love is toxic and your heart is dead and there's no point anyway. Blair Waldorf will scratch at your chest, crawl under your skin, and love you until that useless organ stutters back to life. And you can't have that, can you?

You can't handle that, can you?

:::

Blair falls asleep like nothing hurts, and you want to ask her how. Because lately you've been sleeping with your eyes open, like something is broken. You don't have a mother to kiss or a father to lean on or a best friend when you actually really need one.

And then you imagine asking Nate for advice about her.

What a fucking laugh.

Blair even falls asleep like she loves you, sinks her face into the duvet only a breath away, fingers ghosting over your skin, murmurs of your name hiding under her sweet breath. And you know it doesn't belong there.

In another life, you are the best man at a different wedding, where Waldorf becomes Archibald and everyone is content and limos are only meant to take you home.

But that limo did take you home, didn't it?

_Whatever. I guess it did._

:::

Sometimes you wonder why stars align and things collide and –

And usually this happens when you're stoned, but it's there all the same. Because you and Blair are two sparks that fluttered to life at the same time, at the same place.

At the wrong time, at the wrong place.

Some pairs make lovely fires.

But you two burst into flames.

:::

You watch her sleep, and you convince yourself that the arm draped over her tiny waist is an accident. You convince yourself that you're just dreaming. Things make sense that way. Things work out when you skate over the surface of life. But you're not living. You're just existing.

And soon you'll just be a story at her – _take your pick of any of his conquests_ – wedding.

"God," the blonde/redhead/housekeeper/model will say, "I slept with the biggest player in Manhattan once. I wonder what happened to him."

Nothing happened to him. Not really.

Because falling in love and letting it go –

Is just the same as staying where you are.

:::

"Chuck."

Your name on those lips sends blood rushing through your body, trembles through your skin. Sometimes you think about the things you've said to her, and it makes you want to die because no one else can do this for you. Not like her. Never like her. And you're not just throwing it away.

You're ripping it up, piece by piece, fingertips bloody with paper cuts, watching it all fall apart.

But now she's saying your name.

She's not awake, and you can tell. You can see right through Blair Waldorf, and that's the only thing that keeps the smarmy grin on your lips. Because the rest of them can't see that she is the best actress that's ever lived. Blair filters through her roles like it's a full time job.

_Ice Queen, Queen B, trophy girlfriend, best friend, perfect daughter, excellent student, Audrey, Scarlet, Natalie – _

_"Who's that girl?"_

You don't know.

But you like to believe that she drops the charade when her dress hits your floor. You like to believe that she doesn't have to be anything but Blair when she's with you. You like to believe that –

You like to –

You like _her_. So stop pretending like it's anything else.

"I – " Blair breathes, eyes fluttering, mind cluttered with dreams you'll never see. Your eyes follow the flush as it spreads over her creamy skin. "I love – I love – "

Your chest quakes, and you suck in a sharp breath. You wonder if this is what it feels like to die all of a sudden, all at once. A momentary apocalypse. A temporary forever. That's all you are. That's all you'll ever be.

"I love – "

You wait for it to come, but it never does.

But that's alright.

Things unsaid can still be true.

:::

Even monsters dream.

And so you do.

You are the best man at a different wedding.

No. That's not right. You're the groom.

_Do you, Chuck Bass – _

_Do you, Blair Waldorf – _

[And this summer, when you leave her, you have the same dream every night for sixty days.]

:::

The morning comes with a sharp slap in the face from Blair herself. That's fine. You can do banter and hate and fights. _This _is what you were born to do.

"Who, what, why?"

_You, me, this. It's everything._

"They say that when you love something, you should let it go."

"They say that when you hate something, you should slam the door in its face."

_But what if it's both, Blair? What if I hate you because – _

_And if I love you, then – _

Then what's left?


End file.
